


all i've ever learned from love

by bacondoughnut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Gay Love Story, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots, Love Confessions, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 22:02:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacondoughnut/pseuds/bacondoughnut
Summary: After a case of mistaken identity and quite a bit of yelling, Crowley and Aziraphale finally get their shit together and admit they're in love.





	all i've ever learned from love

Crowley knew something was up the second he stepped into the bookshop. Okay, well maybe not  _that_ quick, but he figured it out pretty fast.

Aziraphale had asked him to stop by before the shop closed, and he really wouldn't give up any more information than that over the phone. Not that he'd needed to. As reluctant as he'd been to admit it, Crowley always came when Aziraphale beckoned. He was indulgent like that; although which of them, exactly, he was indulging he'd been beginning to question.

He may not have figured it out immediately, but he did pick up on his first clue that something was off the second he stepped into the bookshop.

First off, the place was almost completely empty. Actually that bit wasn't that weird--Who wanted to spend their time with boring old books when there were so many better things one could be doing? Still, it was emptier than usual. And then there was the radio.

The bookshop tended to have something playing ever so faintly over the radio whenever Crowley visited. Humans, they'd found, were more comfortable with that softer background noise than they were with dead silence. But it was usually some old jazzy record, or classical music. Playing just soft enough one would only notice it if they were trying to.

Today, the radio was playing Queen.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale greeted him, as ever, with a smile. It was almost infuriating, the way it sparked Crowley to want to smile, too. He pointed up at the ceiling, although Crowley figured he was indicating the stereo when he asked, "Do you like the music?"

"A Night at the Opera."

Aziraphale's smile faltered ever so slightly, like he thought he'd forgotten something. "Were we going to the opera?"

"No, angel, it's the name of the album," Crowley said, shaking his head but letting that persistent grin poke out. Nobody could ever make him smile quite so fast as his angel. Then, "Why, did you want to?"

"We could. We've got the time now, you know."

There was a look in Aziraphale's eyes that Crowley couldn't quite figure out. After six thousand years, you would think he'd be able to figure out what his best friend was thinking. But somehow Aziraphale was still surprising him. Confounding him.

Crowley shrugged and moved to sit on the nearest surface he could spot, a vintage sort of mahogany table. He only stopped when Aziraphale gave him a look, and with a groan Crowley stopped to snap his fingers, moving the books that were scattered about to be neatly stacked on one end of the table. Once they were out of the way, and Aziraphale had smiled at him again, Crowley perched on the edge of the table.

He lifted a hand to inspect his finger nails and asked, "So why did you ask me here, then?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Suppose not. As long as the world's not ending again," Crowley joked.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink with me. After the shop closes."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something else then, but before he could actually say, the only customer left in the shop walked up and cut him off. Which was just incredibly rude, by the way. But she had a stack of books in her arms and claimed to be ready to check out, so Aziraphale gave Crowley an apologetic look and said, "I'll be just a moment."

Then he walked off to some other part of the shop with the woman.

Crowley watched him walk off, sort of wondering what could possibly have possessed Aziraphale to ask him out for drinks. It wasn't that Aziraphale didn't drink, only he far preferred food, and it was rapidly approaching the hour that most humans went out for dinner.

He didn't overthink it too much. Largely because Aziraphale had checked the woman out and returned before he had time to overthink it too much.

Once he was back, Crowley hopped off the table and asked, "Drinks, huh?"

"Well, yes. Unless you'd prefer to do something else," Aziraphale said, a little uncertain. Almost...nervous. He reached a hand out towards Crowley, then seemed to reconsider before dropping it back to his side.

"Angel, are you alright?"

"Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

"You just seem a bit...different, is all."

"Always so perceptive," Aziraphale said, emotion flickering across his face just a little too quickly for Crowley to read it properly. He shook his head, turning his attention to straightening up a few of the stacks upon stacks of books in the room. Actually bending down to pick a fallen one up off the floor when he could just as easily have miracled it. "There was just something I wanted to talk you about, that's all."

What could he possibly want to talk to Crowley about that made him act like that?

Up until now, Crowley had thought it had gone unspoken to them, but clear nonetheless, that Aziraphale could tell him anything. He knew demons weren't exactly the most trustworthy of beings to confide in, but Crowley had never betrayed  _him_ before. Never leaked any information Aziraphale told to him in confidence. If there was anyone in the universe that Crowley felt he could trust with anything, it was Aziraphale. Up until now, he'd thought--hoped?--that trust went both ways.

"Drinks it is, then," Crowley said, gesturing grandly towards the doors.

They started out of the shop together, Aziraphale bumping his shoulder into Crowley's in a way that felt deliberate, but was just coincidental enough not to be.

It was a cold night outside. The clouds had blocked out most of the stars, and their light came mostly from the streetlights and through building windows. Crowley just hoped it wouldn't rain until they got to wherever Aziraphale wanted to get drinks. He never cared much for the rain.

While they walked, Aziraphale bumped his shoulder again. Crowley wondered if he was even aware he was doing it. But they'd gone half a block without so much as a word, so Crowley figured whatever it was that was on Aziraphale's mind, he wasn't going to share it without some prompting. Crowley nudged him back and said, "What was it you had to tell me, then?"

"Oh," Aziraphale said, pausing at the street corner.

He looked like he was thinking about changing the subject, and Crowley knew he'd only mentioned it back at the bookshop because he knew Crowley wouldn't give him a chance to weasel out of it. It must have been important, then, whatever it was.

They just stood there on the corner for a long moment, looking at each other. Waiting. Then, when it must have become clear that Crowley wasn't going to change the subject for Aziraphale, Aziraphale cleared his throat. Shuffled his feet a little before standing up a little straighter, steeling himself to say whatever the hell it was he thought he couldn't. And finally, finally he blurted out, "You're my best friend."

Crowley blinked at him.

"Yes, and you're mine. That's old news."

"Right, of course. I just...like for you to know," he said, turning to cross the street.

And oh no, Crowley was not letting him off the hook that easy. He followed him through the crosswalk and said, "Tell me what you need to tell me, Aziraphale."

"I don't want to."

"What? Why?"

"There's a chance you won't want to hear it."

What did that even mean? What was Crowley supposed to do with that? Forgetting that, so long as it wasn't terrible but kind of endearing magic tricks, Crowley was willing to listen to just about anything Aziraphale had to say. Forgetting that both of them had already said plenty to each other that they knew the other didn't want to hear. Aziraphale had to know that answering him that way would only make Crowley all the more curious as to what exactly all of this was about.

He cut Aziraphale off at the corner on the other side of the crosswalk, blocking the rest of the path. "Tell me, Aziraphale."

"No."

"What is it?"

"You can't make me," Aziraphale said, shaking his head.

And that was just enough of a challenge, and Crowley was just concerned enough about what in the worlds Aziraphale could have to tell him yet be so adamant he couldn't, that before he could even think about it Crowley was grabbing him by the shirt and pinning him to the nearest wall. There noses were practically touching when he hissed, "Tell me what you want to tell me. Are you sick? Are you--You're angel sick? The world really is ending again? What is it?"

Aziraphale looked at him for a second before his gaze flickered away from Crowley's eyes and down to his lips. And then, somewhat out of left field, he was leaning forward and....

Crowley was just dazed enough to kiss him back for, well, probably longer than he should have. It made sense, the thing Aziraphale was so nervous about was this. Was the thing Crowley hadn't dared to let himself imagine for what felt like forever, the thing he'd been hoping for. That as unrealistic and impossible as it seemed, Aziraphale would love him back. That something so good could even deign to care for something so bad after all the millennium of believing they couldn't even be friends, that would be the real miracle.

But then it all started to add up. The different music, drinks and not food, the nervousness, the acting weird. Of course Aziraphale was acting weird, this wasn't Aziraphale. It just couldn't be.

Even with that knowledge, it was somewhat hard to make himself break away from the kiss.

He stumbled back a step, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as if that would fix absolutely anything. For as livid as he was, he couldn't bring himself to look at the not-Aziraphale still leaning against that wall. All he could do was shake his head and say, "This is cruel."

"What?"

The imposter actually sounded upset. And even though Crowley knew it wasn't really his best friend talking, it was like a knife in the heart to hear that voice so heartbroken. It fueled the rage in him, and when he spoke this time he was louder, surer. Able to glare at the imposter before him and say, "This is cruel. Even for you, Hastur. What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"Crowley, it's  _me_." The Hastur-Aziraphale said, with the audacity to look wounded.

"I know it is," Crowley said, pacing back and forth in front of the imposter. "You just couldn't leave me alone, could you? Tell me how you're doing it. A demon possessing an angel? No. Shapeshifting! But how are you doing the eyes, contact lenses?"

"I'm not wearing contact lenses!"

"It doesn't matter how you're doing it. What have you done with the real Aziraphale?"

"I am the real Aziraphale!"

Of course Hastur didn't know when to give up the damned ruse. Crowley wasn't sure what he was angrier about; the fact that this vile demon had the nerve to impersonate  _his_ angel, deface and debase Aziraphale like that, or that it had taken Crowley so long to catch on. What kind of a best friend was he?

And as loathe as he was to admit it, it hurt.

Even if he'd only allowed himself to hope for a few seconds, it hurt. To have the only thing Crowley had ever truly cared for so deeply dangled in front of him only for it to be yanked away. They'd been foolish to believe that either of their respective sides would leave them alone, and now the demons had taken Aziraphale. Spirited him away somewhere probably terrible, and sent Hastur to impersonate him, to give Crowley the only torture that would actually well and truly hurt him.

Crowley gripped the impersonator's coat lapels, slamming him back into the wall. "If you've hurt him, if you've hurt Aziraphale, I swear to--Well, I swear to  _something_ that whatever you've done to him will be like bloody papercuts compared to what I'm going to do to you. Now where is he?"

"Crowley, seriously!"

"What, Hastur?" Crowley pulled him away from the wall only to slam him back into it once more. Hastur winced but wouldn't give up the charade, and damn, Crowley was sure it hurt him more to see pain on Aziraphale's face than anything he could do would hurt Hastur. He very deliberately pushed that thought to the back of his head so he could lean forward and said, "You think that just because I love him I won't hurt you while you wear his face, is that it? Because it won't work."

And for a second he began to doubt his conviction that this was, in fact, a demonic entity sent from the bowels of Hell to punish him for not dying at the trial like he was supposed to, was the fact that the not-Aziraphale only blinked at him in complete and utter shock before saying, "You love me? Oh, Crowley, I love you, too. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

The only noise Crowley could make was a deep growl, and whether it came from pain or wrath even he didn't know.

Damn, they were clever to figure it out.

That seeing that face and hearing that voice tell Crowley those words gave him a hope and a joy that he hadn't felt in...well, that he'd never felt before. Only for it all to be squashed when he remembered that it wasn't, and would never be, Aziraphale telling him that.

Because Crowley had been through a lot of pain and a lot of suffering in his life. But he knew it, as surely as he knew anything, that if anything could ever really, truly break him beyond repair, it would Aziraphale.

Hastur knew it, too, apparently.

"You've never held any love for me, Hastur, and that's the only thing you and him have in common," Crowley said, doing his very best to ignore the flicker of hurt that danced across his best friend's face. The fact that Hastur could stay in character this long was another torture in and of itself, making Crowley watch Aziraphale in any form of pain. It was cruel and, what was worse, deep down he knew he deserved it for ever thinking he could be good enough for Aziraphale in the first place. "Now tell me what you've done with him."

"Well I truly am flattered you're so protective of me, but it really is me, Crowley."

"Shut up, you're not him."

There was a crackling of thunder overhead, and then the rain started to come pouring down. It was never just a drizzle. And it just had to rain on a night like this, didn't it?

"I've got this." Not-Aziraphale looked up at the sky for a second, and then snapped his fingers, a white umbrella appearing in his hand. As he opened it up and held it, not above himself but over Crowley's head, he said almost fondly, "You never did like the rain."

And Crowley let go of his coat lapels like he'd been electrocuted, falling backwards and not particularly caring that he'd stumbled out from underneath the cover of the umbrella. It didn't matter anyway, because the man in front of him just stepped forward to ensure the umbrella stayed over Crowley, absently straightening the suit that Crowley had wrinkled while he did.

Crowley blurted, "Angel?"

"I did tell you it was me," Aziraphale said. For someone who'd just been shoved up against a wall and repeatedly threatened, he really only sounded a little put out. "Is it really so preposterous to think I might love you that it would make more sense for me to be a demon imposter sent to torture you?"

"Well...yes."

That pain in Aziraphale's eyes only hurt all the more now Crowley knew it was really him. He looked down at his feet and murmured, "I see."

They just stood there in the rain for what felt like forever (and he would know), Aziraphale staring at the ground and Crowley staring at Aziraphale. He'd fucked it up, he knew he had. But when he'd admitted to loving Aziraphale, he'd thought he was talking to Hastur. How were they supposed to be friends now, now that Aziraphale knew how Crowley felt? How Crowley had felt, for...for centuries.

He wouldn't reject Crowley outright. No, he was far too kind for that. But things would be weird when Crowley asked him out to lunch now, and they would just slowly grow apart like six thousand years had never happened.

He wasn't sure what prompted him to say it, but the only words Crowley could think to say were, "I'm sorry."

Aziraphale's eyes shot up from the ground then, meeting his. "What ever for?"

"Don't make me say it."

"But Crowley, I love you too," Aziraphale insisted, taking a half step closer.

One that Crowley mirrored by taking a half step back. How was it possible that this hurt even more than if it had been Hastur the whole time? He shook his head, and it seemed it was Crowley's turn to stare at the ground. "No, you don't."

"Why would I--" Aziraphale shouted, cutting himself off abruptly when he realized how loud it was. Then, in a tone closer to a whisper, he said, "Why don't you believe me?"

Crowley, on the other hand, had no qualms about yelling. "Because you're KIND!"

"What?"

"You're  _kind_ , and good, and I'm...not," Crowley said, looking back up at Aziraphale. Even if Aziraphale wouldn't be able to see his eyes past his sunglasses, he felt he owed him that courtesy. To look him in the eyes. To be honest. They owed each other that much. "You deserve better than me, angel. Fuck, I just threw you around and threatened and yelled at you, and you're holding this bloody umbrella over me!"

"Do you honestly think I care for you so little that you threatening me would change anything? And besides, you thought I was a demon."

"Okay, well maybe you shouldn't care for me!"

He hadn't meant to do it, but when Crowley shouted the umbrella went up in flames. Aziraphale quickly dropped it, jumping a step back, staring at Crowley now with the remnants of the umbrella between them. It was always the worst kind of pain to see Aziraphale in, the kind that Crowley himself had caused. "What are you saying, Crowley?"

Crowley shuddered in the cold, glancing down at the umbrella. He said, softer, "There is something  _rotten_ inside of me, angel. You've been looking past it for millennium, because you are, you're kind. But I can't, I won't let you delude yourself into thinking that I am anything other than exactly what I am."

"I'm sorry, but you are. I'm not deluded about anything! I know exactly what you are! You tempted Eve to eat the apple, you question God's plan, you are a snake, and a demon. And, most importantly," Aziraphale's tone wasn't harsh exactly, but by Aziraphale standards it was. That was, until he stepped forward again, and suddenly it was one Aziraphale's perfect wings shielding Crowleyfrom the rain. With the faintest of smiles he said, "You are my best friend."

"You're not listening to me, you never listen to me."

"My dear Crowley," Aziraphale said, his tone just soft and just fond enough that Crowley risked letting himself feel that spark of hope. Then there was a hand on his chin, tilting his head up ever so gently--Aziraphale was always gentle--so that he had to look at him. "I know you don't think you deserve to be loved, and you have my sincerest apologies for whatever part my actions have played in leading you to that conclusion over the years. But I do love you, Crowley, I really, really do. Unequivocally, ardently....ineffably."

It was, perhaps, the most vulnerable Crowley had ever felt, staring at Aziraphale under the rain.

Still, he couldn't suppress the smile that was forcing it's way onto his face then. He thought back to the paintball arena, and how Aziraphale had insisted the place felt loved, and suddenly thought he might know something about how that place felt. He repeated, "You love me, huh?"

"I do."

"And you're not just being kind?"

"No."

"Liar," Crowley said, launching himself forward and pulling Aziraphale into probably the clumsiest hug in the history of hugs. It wasn't an art that Crowley was well practiced in, exactly, and the wings did kind of get in the way. But despite all that, when Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's neck, he knew there was nowhere else in all of creation that he would rather be. He grinned and said into Aziraphale's coat, "You're always kind. And I love you, you bloody tree-topper."

Aziraphale laughed, which was infectious as ever, and soon enough they were stood on that street corner laughing and hugging like actual idiots. Almost stumbling over and swaying side to side, but refusing to let go of one another. In that moment, Crowley felt like they never would.

By the time they actually broke apart to go out for that drink, the rain had stopped.

As they walked, Aziraphale asked with a small laugh, "Angel sick?"

"Shut up, I was worried about you."

"Why were you so convinced I wasn't me, anyway?"

"Well, first off, you were playing different music," Crowley said, matter of fact. "And you asked me for  _drinks_. You never ask me for drinks, you prefer to eat food. And admit it, you were acting weird."

"That was all for you, you ninny!"

"Ninny?"

"I'm sorry, but you are," Aziraphale said, and if his hand happened to take hold of Crowley's while they walked, well nobody said a thing. "I was playing your music because I invited you over, and I asked you for drinks because when we get food you never  _eat_ any of it. You just sip your coffee and your alcohol."

Actually that was all...pretty reasonable explanations. Especially now that he thought about the fact the song that had been playing when he showed up happened to be Love of my Life. Probably, in hindsight, more reasonable than believing that Hastur had turned himself into Aziraphale just to fuck with Crowley.

Never one to admit defeat so easily, though, Crowley huffed and said, "Well that still doesn't explain you acting all weird."

"I was frightened."

"Frightened? What ever for?"

"I was going to tell you...well, about the love and all that, over drinks. Only I wasn't certain you felt the same way, and I wasn't sure how you would react," Aziraphale said, and honestly the way he seemed just a little embarrassed was incredibly endearing. Then, "Apparently I was right to worry, because you thought I was a  _demon."_

"Hey! It was a perfectly reasonable assumption! And I apologized!"

"It's quite alright, I still love you anyway." Hearing that was going to take some getting used to. Well, they had at least another six thousand years at least to get used to it. Crowley bumped Aziraphale with his shoulder, and Aziraphale leaned in and whispered, "You're supposed to say you love me too."

As usual, there was nothing Crowley could do but what Aziraphale asked of him. This, he was happy to indulge.

They had spent six thousand years not saying it, now it seemed they didn't know how to stop.

"I love you, angel," he said, with the hint of a smile. "Ineffably."

And, as usual, Crowley figured that everything, everything was worth it if he meant that he got to see Aziraphale smile at him like that for another day.


End file.
